


The Oddity of Connor

by kaylinii



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game) RPF
Genre: Angst, Autistic Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Connor Deserves Happiness, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Dissociation, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Poor Connor, fuck Markus honestly, not mentioned but I write him as such ty, self mutilation, sumo be the best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:53:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23980069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaylinii/pseuds/kaylinii
Summary: He was a prototype, he came with his challenges. His LED was unable to be removed, his hair and skin unchanging. His voice was often monotone, his body always moving. It was difficult to be so visibly different, so strange, even by his species standards. Connor itches for a way to change himself. His eyes land on the scissors.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 16
Kudos: 318





	The Oddity of Connor

**Author's Note:**

> did I proofread this. no. was this self indulgent and a minor vent. very possible. please enjoy, every engagement gets connor closer to a therapist.

Connor felt odd. 

Between the mass of chattering people and cheery music, he felt as if his audio processors would begin to fry in his head. The noise surrounding him continued to beat its way into his brain, pushing and pulling his attention around the courtyard.

Connor stayed close to Hank, who was pushing this way through the people. Hank had warned him about the oncoming tourists, who flocked to the city once the weather began to warm. Along with the popularity of the revolution, Detroit was a hotspot for activity. Humans and androids alike gathered to visit the android built businesses and shops, the festivals celebrating their newly accepted species, and the general buzz around last year’s excitement.

While it was encouraging to see so many people happy to spend time with his kind, Connor was quickly overwhelmed by the constant business in his home. His first few weeks as a deviant were spent in peaceful quiet, a welcoming environment for his new emotions. Connor was starting to wish that that quiet moment never left. If every day was going to be this loud then he was content to just stay inside with Sumo, shopping trips be damned.

Connor politely shrugged past a grouping of androids, their loud conversation blasting his ears. Hank would occasionally check over his shoulder, making sure the android didn’t get himself lost in the ocean of shoppers. “Keep up, Con. I’m not gonna call for you over an intercom if you get yourself lost.”

“Yes, Hank,” he said, straining his voice over the flood of heads. He shook his head and powered through it, this was hardly the worst experience of his life, he reasoned. There were much worse things than a sea of people, swimming in pitchy music and boxing noise. But, Connor figured thinking of worse things than this would do more harm than good, his chest already stuffed with bad and uncomfortable feelings.

He sighed. Connor was not having a good time.

Hank had led them into a store, brightly lit and playing tinny pop music. The man visibly deflated in the air conditioning, setting his bag onto a counter. Connor joined him, placing his own bag next to his. He’d never been shopping before, at least, not for such impractical items. His bag was filled with nonessential items, things that an android certainly did not need to function. Hank had insisted, now that they had cleared out a room for him, that he buy things for himself. Solely for himself, Hank had drilled, and nobody else. He had asked Connor what made him happy, what he’d want to wake up to every day. He had promised not to push and so Connor followed his own prompts.

Even if the idea was foreign and strange Connor had an exciting time picking gout his own belonging. He felt…lighter, now that he had his own supply of journals and stick-on stars. Unfortunately, that liberating feeling was damped by the afternoon traffic, people spilling into the ceramic shop and nearly sending him reeling. He’d stuck around Hank for the rest of the day, the other man not protesting his company.

The whole day had been exhausting, and Connor found himself, for the hundredth time, wishing to be back home.

“Hello, welcome to Nordmann’s, how can I help you?” The woman was clearly human, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening as she smiled. She was short and colorful, Connor’s attention drifting to her feathered earrings.

“Uh, yeah, this piece of junk crapped out on me. You think this thing’s worth getting fixed?” Hank and the woman continued chatting about his DVD player. Connor’s eyes followed the rainbow feathers as they shook in the blasting AC. He’d told Hank that the machine was a bust, the insides fried completely after an especially long movie marathon. The older man was stubborn, as Connor predicted, and lugged the thing all the way downtown.

Connor wished he’d thrown the thing out when the man wasn’t looking. 

Hank slapped a hand on the table, startling Connor out of his daze. “Alright, we’ll give it a go. Can I pay upfront?”

“Sure thing, I’ll get you all packed up!” The woman chirped, ducking into the back room. 

Hank turned to him with a smirk. “What’d I tell you? These things were built like bricks, it’s nonsense getting rid of something this good.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “What’s nonsensical is you keeping such outdated equipment. There are plenty of good movie players in this store, Hank. I don’t see the point.”

Hank shrugged, pulling out his credit card. “Nostalgia? Shit, I don’t know, people become attached to things. A little extra care never hurt nobody, besides, they don’t even make these things anymore. Might be worth a pretty penny one of these days.”

Connor still didn’t understand. “It’s junk, Hank.”

The man shrugged again as the saleswoman reappeared. They exchanged pleasantries and his restored machine. Connor grabbed his bag and began to follow him out of the store. He hoped they were finally heading towards home.

Hank stopped at the door, turning. “You know, it might be junk but I still like it. It think that’s enough, you know?” He left Connor scrambling to catch the swinging door, already heading towards the parking lot. 

Connor didn’t know, but that was just the problem. He hoped he could learn, hauling his bag of goodies, to grow an attachment as illogical as Hank’s. That small trait was entirely human, he thought, and perhaps what he was missing.

.

Connor stared at his shelf, duster hanging in his hand. They were barren, for now, and the possibilities were endless. His bag from the Outlets sat on his bed. He’d tied it tight and shoved it away in his closet days ago, before his purchased shelves had arrived. Hank had helped him place them and now the rest was up to him. He never expected decorating to be such a daunting task.

He began with his notebooks. Some were leather-bound and they were placed first, easier to clean facing forwards and on an angle. A few plants were placed and then removed. An antique Rubix’s cube, a baggy of marbles, a few worry stones, and a candle eventually sat upon his shelf. Small and above his bed, it held a handful of his own possessions and Connor grinned. This was a good start, he supposed. A few things were left in the shopping bag, a pair of charcoal pencils and a pack of glow-in-the-dark stars, but he’d tackle them later. This had already taken…three hours. Hours of deliberation and progress, he nodded. This was progress.

But, he had not expected that to take so long, and now that left him with even less time to finish his other tasks. One that included dinner and Connor decided to start that next. Hank had allowed him to pick have of the groceries, giving him full range of the produce and supplements. While he wasn’t pleased at Hank’s choices of beverages and snacks he appreciated his willingness to have help. Connor had a wide choice of options for tonight, a new order having arrived at their door that morning. He was studying the options in the fridge when Hank came through the door. 

“Hey, Con,” he hollered, slamming the door. Sumo perked up from his spot at his feet, eagerly welcoming his owner. Connor watched him wag his way to the living room.

“Evening, Hank. How was your day, did you get your case back?”

Hank threw his shoes across the room and dropped at the kitchen table. He shrugged. “Won a little, lost a little. Fowler’s up my ass over this whole case, but I’m pretty certain he won’t drop it all on Gavin. The kid’s a piece of work, don’t get me wrong, but he’s busting ass out there. He’s three pats on the back from taking my title.”

Connor began unloading the fridge. “I don’t think that’s how it works, Hank, but I’m glad to hear he’s doing well.”

Hank snorted, “you’re allowed to dislike people, Con. Wouldn’t blame you for, hell, not wishing him a good day.”

The android frowned. “I don’t think I dislike anyone, if I’m honest. I don’t think I ever had.”

“That’s pure bullshit. You decked Gavin for being a pain in your ass, you’re allowed to have feelings.”

He hummed, sorting through some onions. “It was a very necessary precaution, Hank, and I don’t think I even disliked him then. I mean, I was resistant to emotion, but given the option…” Connor frowned. “I don’t think I’d feel anything towards him.”

Hank sat on that for a while. Connor had finished cooking this turkey burger and grabbing a pouch of thirium by the time Hank spoke up, stabbing at a fry. “Are you able to, feel those type of emotion I mean. We haven’t really talked about the emotions thing in a while,” he popped a fry in his mouth. “There’s a few bases we still haven’t covered. If you’re having…I don’t know, issues or questions, I’m right here.”

Connor stared at his drink. “No, I don’t think I’m having many issues. Isn’t learning through experience part of living anyway?” He blinked, head feeling heavy. “It’s nothing.”

“Right,” Hank said. “Well, as I said, I’m right here. Been through the whole scope of feelings and shit, you don’t need to be going through any of this blind. ’s all, just making sure you know.”

Connor nodded, eyes down. “I know Hank. Thank you.”

“‘Course,” he said through his burger. Connor grimaced and sipped at his own meal, thinking. All emotions were supposed to be confusing and maybe upsetting, and Connor would figure them out in time. He had all the time in the world, after all. Time couldn’t kill a machine. Connor shivered at the thought, but it was true. He was built to last a long time and he would survive a long time feeling this way, uncertain and uneasy; it was all a part of being alive.

Simon had pointed it out one day, the oddity of Connors’ appearance. 

His LED was a focal point during their last gathering, the other androids pointing out its uselessness. North and Simon were the most vocal, telling Connor that he was no longer captive to the small device. They explained that it was a small act of rebellion to the humans who branded them with their glowing rings, placed for them to identify a broken android, an idling machine, a working slave. LEDs, it seemed, had no purpose other than giving human’s a glimpse into their functionality, now an invasion of privacy. All of this was said to him like he didn’t already know, like he wasn’t hyperaware of what the parts of his own body served. It was insulting, to say the least.

Markus had chimed in with his own story, a liberating moment of emotion when he pried the disk from his synthetic flesh. Perhaps he was excepting Connor to gawk in awe or to be overwhelmed by a flood of admiration and emotion. Instead, Connor just stared. 

“I know.” He broke his own silence in the middle of Markus’ storytelling.

Connor kept his head down to not see the disapproving look of his peers. He remained himself to take deep breathes. “I’m…very aware of what my LED represents. I didn’t know it offended so many of you.”

Simon put both of his hands up, leaning forwards in his chair. “No, no Connor. You’ve done nothing wrong, we’re just curious.”

North snorted. “Yeah, curious as to why you have that shit on your forehead. Kind of a big ‘fuck you’ to our whole movement thing. But, whatever, if it makes you happy…”

“North,” Simon scolded. Connor noticed he whined a lot and it was grating to his ears. If Connor took the time to really think about it he’d possibly say he was annoying, or, at least his voice was. But thinking about things he didn’t like about others was unpleasant and so he tried to push that away. He wished Hank hadn’t spent his quarter all those months back, his hands buzzed.

“I’m not..” He rubbed his fingers together, his voice was flat. “I’m not happy about it at all, actually.”

The three androids were watching him, waiting for him to continue. He didn’t like the weight of their gazes, he found, and had to resist squirming in his seat. “It’s not something I can change, unfortunately. I’m a prototype, the blueprint for my unreleased models. I cannot change anything physical about my appearance.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

Markus tilt his head, eyes pinching. “So am I, Connor. There must be something you can override, manually, I mean it wasn’t that difficult. Would you allow me to take a look at your code?”

Connor’s arms tugged into his body. “Please do not do that.”

“Ok, ok then,” their leader looked distressed. He wasn’t used to being faced with a problem he couldn’t solve and Connor could tell. “Maybe if we consulted Josh, he’s got a lot of experience with malfunctions—“

“I’ll be going.” Connor stood, the fire pit between them popped. “I’m already due home, I’m afraid.” 

Markus and Simon stood as well. North reclined in her seat, unfazed. She tossed a rock into the flames. “ You’re afraid,” she mocked, eyes on him. “Of what, being late for your human? Of being slightly disobedient for your police lieutenant?”

“North,” Markus warned. “Please leave your thoughts to yourself. I’m sure Connor can decide when he wants to return home.”

“So what, we’re going to ignore the android who spends his time playing human? We’ve seen him, what, four times this year?” She scoffed, red hair illumined in the fire. “He’s an android playing house with these humans, all of whom are police, Markus.”

Connor felt like the earth was swallowing him whole. Simon’s gaze was averted, feet digging into the ground. He didn’t want to be present during this, not at all. Connor realized that he’d rather have them hate him once he’d left, North’s words burning and branding his skin. 

When he looked back up he could see how strongly North held her companion’s gaze, never one to back down from her pedestal. “Don’t be naive Markus, Simon; he’s never going to be one of us until he figures out what the hell he even is.” 

Connor wasn’t quick enough to avoid her eyes as they snapped to his face. His breath stalled in his chest. “ Figure out what you are, Connor. A machine playing human like you did in the beginning, or someone like us. Deviancy isn’t something to be wasted on androids who’d rather be obedient slaves. Figure your shit out before you end up hurting my friends.” She tapped the side of his head and his LED burned. A branding by humans, cemented into his skin and seeping into his brain. Connor never looked back and he turned towards the mansion, the voices of Markus and Simon nipping at his ears. 

He wanted to go home.

.

The whole trip home was a blur. 

Connor had decided to walk the three miles back to the house, the wind sharp in the night air. He had begun to miss the warmth of the fire pit. Simon and he had gathered the firewood from the nearby tree line, a comfortable time in his company. Connor now felt stranger with the knowledge that it was likely the last time they’d allow him back into their group.

His ache in his chest never lightened, not when he’d passed the group of cats in an ally way, or when the stars reflected in the river a certain way; his mood steadily declined as he traveled. He had hoped that the further he got from the androids, from North especially, the better he’d feel. That idea seemed to be a bust, and he sighed as he turned his key.

Hank was likely still asleep and his suspicion was confirmed when he saw the darkened hallway. Hank always made sure to keep the kitchen light on for him. Connor had found pleasure in late night walks, when stasis wasn’t needed for cataloging the entire day, and Hank hadn’t tried to stop him. A few times Hank had joined him, but the overflow of work had him in bed earlier and earlier. 

Connor glanced at his watch and found it wasn’t too late for a quick shower. He Made quick work of hoping into he lukewarm spray, a specifically set temperature that didn’t misfire his sensors but broke away the dirt and grime of the day. Connor stayed under the water for a considerable time. Bathing used to be a luxury before he’d moved in with Hank, the CyberLife technicians usually hosing down his plating during his in-person reports. The process had been uncomfortable, even as a machine, but he’d never know any different. Having ample time to enjoy these moments were more than Connor could ask for, along with the lieutenant’s vast compassion and endless patience. Connor had no idea how the man could stand him. If his own people, ones he had fought alongside, could see the blood that still remained under his fingertips, then how come Hank acted so trustingly? 

Connor knew he was not a good person, he was built to be ruthless and uncaring. He’d begun to think that he was making progress, a personality forming with the help of his small circle of support. But he must have been wrong. He let his head fall onto the tile wall. He’d been foolish to believe that he could rectify his past actions with the small amount of effort he put forth. Even though every day produced a new struggle, a new faucet of being alive, he knew he could do better. Jericho expected him to do better.

He sighed.

Those thoughts would have to be left for later, when he wasn’t running ht risk of awakening his roommate. Rivets of chilled water stung as he stepped out onto the rug, rubbing a towel over his head. The shower had already began to un-fog and Connor startled at the glowing ring. A melody of yellow and red flashed in his reflection. Connor stared at the sequence. His body was quivering and he broke his gaze, plucking this night clothes from the floor. 

He dressed quickly, avoiding the mirror, and left the bathroom. Sumo was already parked at the end of his bed and Connor curled up next to him. He had manually shut off the memories of the last few hours, leaving his head clear of the Jericho leaders. He spent the rest of the night like that, spooning against Sumo, head fuzzy and disjointed. He refused to turn on his automatic memory replay, not collecting the time between his shower and now, hours later. 

The night passed before his eyes, glossy and covered by the dog’s long fur. His hands followed a short circuit around Sumo’s body, up to his collar and down his shoulders. The repetition felt grounding, the only thing encoring Connor to the bed. He felt as if he would float up from the bed and crash into the ceiling, destroy the flimsy plastic stars stuck in small circles. 

Eventually, his vision snapped back into focus, his idle program dwindling as he sat up. Connor’s body was lagging as he stood in the morning sun. His joints felt stiff and sticky, his head heavy on his shoulders. 

Sumo yawned and padded over to the door and Connor was surprised with how long it took him to actually move. He let the dog out and shuffled down the hall. Hank was still asleep and Connor figured it was his day off. Letting Sumo outside Connor smelt the morning dew and felt the cool air on his heated system. Perhaps he should have let himself fall into stasis last night but there was little to do about that now. Sitting on the doorstep his hand traveled to his head. The small device was warm and familiar, but Connor was beginning to wonder if he was supposed to feel…something…more than what he did. He’d never given it much thought, it was simply apart of his model, his body. Connor had never had an issue with the was he was constructed but now he couldn’t help but feel ashamed. It turned out that he was wrong inside and out, a faulty machine through and through.

With all of his systems coming online Connor couldn’t stop the onslaught of memories from last night. The harsh looks and the horrible words. They were all probably correct, he was an android imitating life. But, weren’t they all? Apparently not.

Connor beckoned the dog back inside and shut the door. He fell into his routine of starting Hank’s coffee, the old machine spitting hot water over the counter. Another piece of junk. He fed Sumo and opened the blinds, the morning shaping together as usual. That fact settled something in his system and he found he could simply exist easier now that his chores were done, now that he was doing what was familiar. Connor figured he’d just have to wait for Hank to get up, seeing the time tick into noon. 

While wiping down the coffee machine Connor caught his reflection, his bright circle of gold shining back. Well, if he had these hours to spare then he might as well be productive, he reasoned. He slipped down the hall and into the small room, door pinching closed. The gold of his LED had not changed from his earlier reflection, his same eyes stared back at him; Connor was growing upset by seeing his face, a plaster covering a malfunctioning machine. That’s what Markus had said, right? Or, something early similar. Either way, their words packed the same punch, a screwing of a fist in his gut. 

Hank kept a pair of hair scissors in the cabinet and Connor placed them next to the rag. He’d tried once to pry the LED away, his first week living with Hank. Back then he’d wanted to fit in with the androids on television who held their LEDs in the air while declaring their freedom. A monumental moment that he belatedly wanted to be apart of, but it had gotten him nothing more than frustration and pain. This time he had to try harder, push deeper. Jericho expected him to be better, he repeated, Hank deserved a better friend. Connor wanted to be stronger.

The scissors slipped under the metal lip and he let it slip behind the disk. There were more wires attached behind for him to dig around, something that seemed to only be his problem. He bit his tongue as he caught a wire, snipping the scissors together blindly. He could feel the release of tension under his skin. That was encouraging. Thirium made his movements sloppy but he persisted, the skins round the disk pulling with every snip and snap under his plating. Connor could feel the static growing around his forehead, a pressure amounting in his ears and eyes. He could feel the end of his mission, though, a few smaller wires attaching him to the branding on his head. 

Maybe, if he showed up at Jericho, LED-less and happy, the androids wouldn’t look at him like that anymore. An annoyed look bordering on pity, distrustful movements and sly glances. Perhaps he’d feel welcome at every fundraiser and get together, maybe he’d be invited to more than one. Connor smiled at that thought, a watery wobble of his lips. Maybe Hank would be proud of him for taking the first big step into personhood, creating his own identity. That’s what he wanted, after all and Connor was tired of disappointing. 

He was so tired.

“Shit.” His elbow hit the sink, scissors still lodged in his head. 

His arms trembled, and he leaned forward, elbows on the slick counter. He took a few deep breathes, static overtaken this vision. He knew this wasn’t good, the amount of thirium lost and the multiple wires he had snipped; he was being illogical and stupid. But, he was also desperate. He was desperate to lessen the hate attached to his name, he wanted to belong to the freedom he’d helped gain; he wanted to belong. Connor didn’t want to pretend anymore, he didn’t want to skate on the line separating human and android. Connor was an anomaly and that realization crushed him. He slowly sunk to the floor, arms braced around this head, knees to his ears. 

He needed to finish what he started. Connor grasped the handle again, pushing the bar down. The LED steadily raised from his skin but stayed stuck in his head. He pushed harder, blue raining down into his eye. “Shit,” he groaned, dropping his hand.

“Con?” A first rapped at the door. “Connor?”

His head snapped up. He was fucked. Connor couldn’t think between all the blue blood and static in his vision, head filled to the brim with panic. Connor didn’t know what to do. He sat still, petrified, in a puddle of his own thirium, tracks running down his face. In a last-ditch effort, he pulled on the scissors, before deciding to just yank them out. A burst of discomfort flashed across his body and he moaned into his knees. 

Connor heard another round of pounding on the door before it went silent. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He felt his pajama pants on his face, the tacky feeling uncomfortable and gross. The title was cool under his feet, the air warm. He was still until he felt the metal being pried from his grasp.

“Kid, let it go.” Connor’s fingers relaxed and the tool was removed. He felt a towel to his head and another around his shoulders. His body was heavy but not as dense as the one moving him. Hank pulled him up by his armpits, feet unsteady on the slick ground. 

“Easy, easy,” Hank huffed, pushing him down onto the seat. Connor kept his eyes shut as the man moved around, his brain buzzing. A damp cloth was shipped across his face and he grimaced. Connor couldn’t say how long that went on, Hank cleaning up his mess, tending to his broken android. He felt horrible, but he didn’t know what else to do except let it happen. This was his fault. He should’ve have pushed harder, been faster; he was sitting a reminder of his incompetence, his failure as a living being. He whined into his hands, the bubble of emotion tumbling out his throat. Hank put a hand on his shoulder. He was talking to himself, or possible Connor, but he couldn’t tell over the running water, the footsteps, the cloths over his head, the pounding in his chest—

“What did I say, Con? Easy, look at me,” Hank had crouched in front of him. He gently tugged his arms off of his head, blue eyes wide in confusion. Hank’s clothes were stained blue and Connor’s stomach turned. He couldn’t see the entire bathroom with him in the way, but the soaked rags and metallic scent told him enough. 

“Hey, eyes over here.” Connor stopped looking around the room, the frazzled man relaxing when he saw him listen. Hank took a deep breath, hand on his arm. “We alright, you back with me?”

Connor mirrored Hank’s slow nodding. “Alright. You wanna tell me what the fuck happened here?”

Connor’s throat felt hollow, as if someone reached inside and stolen his voice. He dropped his eyes to his shaking hands. He shook his head.

“Okay, that’s fine. You, uh, hurt? Other than your head?” He shook his head again, his face burned. He went to reach for the wound but Hanks hand intervened, gently covering it with his own. “None of that, how bout we get you patch up yeah? Where do you keep your little kit?”

Connor motioned towards the sink and Hank hurried to the bottom drawer. A bit of rummaging later and Hank let out a triumphant noise, hoisting a small repair kit in the air. Connor had come with a small repair kit with his installment to the DPD. It had since been moved to Hank’s house. Other than stealing a few emergency thirium packs from the kit, it had remained untouched. 

Now, Hank has it on his lap, contents spilled onto the floor. “How about these?” Hank held up a clear pack of adhesives, cut into small squares. Connor nodded and Hank unwrapped the pack, squinting at the instructions. “So, we need to...heat these up? Fuck does that mean, microwave them?”

Connor chuckled, the feeling strange but not unwelcome. He shook his head again, point to his head. “Heat...gun. Under charging pad.”

Hank held up what looked like a small hot glue gun, turning it in his hands. Connor sat still as Hank fumbled with the stun squares, placing one over his mutilated LED, the small air of heat melting the patch to his plastic skin. Hank made the very professional decision to place another square on top, insisting that the patches were ‘flimsy pieces of shit’. Connor grinned at that and ran a finger over his new bandage. 

“Right,” Hank said, slapping his knees. He stood up, stretching out his back. “How’s that feel?”

Connor gave a shaky thumbs up. 

“Good, that’s good.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s get you out of here and in some new clothes. We can figure the rest of this shit out later, alright? Come on, up you get.” 

Connor was embarrassed about the amount he leaned on Hank to get him out of the bathroom, and was left to sit in that feeling as Hank ran around the kitchen. He was in a new t-shirt and shorts, huddled up in one of Hank’s duvets. Sumo had come over and plopped himself on the sofa, head resting in his lap. Soothing circles were drawn in his long fur, content sighs flowing from the overgrown puppy. Connor could feel his stress count decline, the fog in his head turning sharp corners soft and blurred. He liked the way Sumo’s hair traveled between his fingers, puffs of hair floating into the sun rays. He was content to stay here for a while longer, perhaps for a moment that transcends time and space. But, Hank was soon to join him, a mug of coffee in his hands.

His beard ruffled as he blew on his drink and Connor stared. Hank cocked an eyebrow and Connor struggled for a moment. “I’m...sorry that you had to clean up my...mess.”  
He looked back down at his lap, Sumo blinked. “That was inconsiderate of me.”

Hank heaved a long sigh. “Shit, Con. Don’t do that—don’t apologize, not before you tell me what the fuck happened. I’ll decide then whether you should feel bad about all of that, but, kid, you’re all messed up. I doubt you should be the one saying sorry.” He sipped his drink and Connor noticed how his fingers shook. 

“You scared the shit outta me, yeah,” Hank said. “But whatever you got going on up in that head of yours looks pretty fucking terrible. Talk to me, kid. What’s going on up there?”

Connor sucked on his lip. His thoughts tumbled around uselessly in his head. “I thought...I was certain that if I could fix this myself then...then you—they—would see that I’m trying.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m trying so hard, every day. And, and I know it’s not enough—clearly— but, maybe if I tried a bit harder, if I pushed a bit harder.”

He had to take a breath, his eyes burning. Hank was silent, letting him speak. Connor was grateful, as his thoughts refused to be turned into the right words. “I don’t know how to be a human, Hank. Apparently, I’m not that good at being a deviant either, I just...I don’t know what I am or what I’m supposed to do. I think that I’m very, very bad at being alive.” His voice waned with his energy, tired eyes opening. 

“I’m sorry.”

Hank put his mug onto the table, resting his arms in his knees. Connor had to stop looking at him, shame washing over him. He’d messed up again by being so weak, and tears spring into his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He hoped that repeating it would dampen the pain in his body, stifle the embarrassment leaking from his eyes. 

“Con, nothing about what you’re feeling is wrong or dumb it’s—it’s entirely human. So human it hurts, to see you stuck in this pain. Would have thought you’d skip all the dreadful shit that comes with being human, but I guess not.” He let out a breath in his tented hands. “We’re going to talk about all this shit today. Later, but it’s gonna happen. I can’t have you falling any deeper into whatever the hell this is, Connor.” They met each others gaze, each wet and miserable. 

“But that’s for later, alright? Let’s fix you up before poking any wounds.”

Connor agreed, emotions too raw to rehash now. Hank and Connie spent that next few hours catching. their breath. A few orders of takeout were ordered and a selection of movies jammed into the old DVD player. At one point, Connor lied down on the couch, Sumo on his chest. Hank had dozed off not long ago and Connor felt he wasn’t far behind. The television drowned out the noise in his head temporarily, and the weight on his chest was welcome for once. Connor let out a deep breath, thirium pump falling into sync with Sumo’s heartbeat, his lungs following Hank’s. He slept being a part of something greater than a species or civilization, something stronger than blood or thirium. Connor belonged to this small family on Michigan Drive, and Connor found that he liked that. He wanted to hold onto this feeling, however nonsensical.


End file.
